Page 65 of Monsters

Chapter 23

Sliding down the tiles, I sat under the heavy stream of scorching water, pulling my knees to my chest. Tears flowed quick and easy, my heart sore. Everywhere I turned, I seemed to be losing control of the situation.

My boyfriend had proved to be a lying, cheating bastard who still to this second was hiding the truth from me.

My boss had become sexually violent, bribing me like I was some two-bit hooker in turn for a promotion, who I was bound by contract to continue working under.

And Mason Carter was still on the loose, happily turning my world upside down.

To say I was devastated about Peter was an overstatement. It wasn’t that I was cold and dispassionate. I genuinely cared for him, and his betrayal hurt. But I wasn’t in love with him. I had only ever been in love once, and that could have been passed off by many as a teenage crush. Yet to me, it wasn’t so trivial.

To say I was devastated by David’s actions? Yes. His behavior was reprehensible. He took what I loved, and used it as a bargaining chip in his sick and twisted game. I cherished my job at the gallery, and now he had forced me to withdraw from my passion in an effort of self-preservation. I’d be continually looking over my shoulder and fighting against his slurs and advances until my contract finished.

And then there was Mason. He’d re-entered my life as toxic as when he’d left it all those years ago. He was my own private stalker, a violent man who would stop at nothing to turn those I love against me, and instill such a fear into my being that any pair of eyes watching felt like him obsessing over my every move.

After a moment of feeling sorry for myself, I came to only one decision.

If I were to come out of any of this unscathed, I needed to regain control of everything.

Finishing up in the shower, I listened as the rings continued to voicemail. Hanging up, I dialed again. Water dripped from the tips of my hair marking my silk robe as I paced back and forth in my bedroom. Just when I thought he was refusing to take my calls, he answered.

“Gemma,” Peter reprimanded through a sleepy voice. “It’s late. What’s wrong?”

“Just ringing to see how you are,” I replied lightly.

“Fine, I guess. Just in bed.”

“Is she there with you?”

There was a tell-tale silence. “Is who there?”

“The blonde who likes to wrap her legs around you while you fuck.”

I wasn’t mad. Maybe a little. But this was all about finding some satisfaction in making him squirm.

“Have you lost your mind?”

Deflection.

Insinuation that I am the one at fault.

Both common tactics used by liars.

“I have pictures, Peter,” I said, feeling a heavy weight lifting off my shoulders.

Peter scoffed, suddenly more alert. “Pictures? You wouldn’t have pictures of anything ‘cause nothing has happened.”

“You don’t need to lie to me anymore. There’s no point. I just wish you had told me you weren’t happy, and we could’ve ended this without one of us being deceitful.”

“So, what do you want from me?” he asked bitterly like this was some kind of divorce conversation.

“I don’t want anything. I suppose I just wanted you to come clean and be man enough to say it to my face. But I guess, you’ve just proven how manly you are. Goodbye, Peter.”

“Gemma! You—”

I ended the call before he had the chance to talk. I felt fresher. Lighter. There was no use in crying over those who deliberately hurt you. They didn’t deserve your grief. My tears from earlier were purely out of frustration, not sorrow.

That was one thing taken care of.

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